The One You Shouldn't Hurt At All
by Wldwmn
Summary: SPOILERS. Episode Tag - 4.24 'The Crimson Hat'. Jane and Lisbon talk after the initial interrogation. There's avoiding, arguing, discussion of Lorelei… oh, who am I kidding. It's Jisbon-y fluff, people; I haven't stopped smiling since Thursday night.


**Disclaimer: I don't own 'The Mentalist'.**

**Summary: SPOILERS. Episode Tag - 4.24 'The Crimson Hat'. Jane and Lisbon talk after the initial interrogation. There's avoiding, arguing, discussion of Lorelei… oh, who am I kidding. It's Jisbon-y fluff, people; I haven't stopped smiling since Thursday night.**

**Author's Note: Okay, so I'm in the midst of writing a massive multi-chap that isn't even half done. HOWEVER, after the amazing finale this little tag sat up and begged to be written. I indulged it. I'm that kind of girl. Rated T for language and adult themes.**

**The One You Shouldn't Hurt At All**

Lisbon wasn't exactly sure which one of them left the CBI HQ first. Following the first sit-down with Lorelei and her dropping the 'lovers' bombshell, Jane had left the room. When Lisbon walked out, she'd walked out of the building. She didn't try to find him. Didn't want to see him.

Didn't want him to see her. He needed no more reasons to feel guilty, didn't need to see any look of sorrow or betrayal on his best friend's face.

He didn't need to see her cry.

Not that she was _going_ to cry over him. Or over what happened.

"Men are different," her mother had told her once, long ago. "They don't have the same things standing in their way when it comes to sex." She'd laughed at the time, and a number of times since, following an adventurous youth and the occasional one night stand in more recent years.

But she could see it in this instance. If nothing else (and Lisbon allowed herself some crudeness in the privacy of her own mind), sex wasn't the same kind of 'letting someone in' for a man as it was for a woman from a purely anatomical point of view. And Jane was a man prepared to _die_ to catch Red John. A solitary roll in the hay was small potatoes, comparatively.

Besides, he wasn't hers to be jealous about. She just sometimes felt like he was.

And yet when he'd stood there ready to shoot her (all part of the plan, of course; she was in a vest and safe, but didn't he look scared?) he shocked her by spouting off an L-word. Out of nowhere.

They'd never said it before.

And he'd had the nerve to dance around it later, but then again, so had she. She'd come at it cross-wise: 'what did you mean?' she'd asked, instead of flat-out 'do you love me?'

It was a mess. Wainwright dead, Red John nowhere to be found as usual, and another blasted disciple to attempt to unravel before she wound up dead. And now of course there was the cherry on top, the elephant in the room with the albatross around its neck, the fact that Jane had sex with the crazy woman, but said he loved her.

All of this went around and around in Lisbon's head as she drove home. Entering her dark apartment, she dropped her keys on the hall table, kicked her shoes off (damn heels, she really needed to go back to flats) and padded into the living room. In the dark, she pushed the power button on her stereo.

Time to listen to some soft music and unwind. Time to stop thinking about work. Time to stop thinking about Jane.

She'd tuned in at the very end of a song, and there was a brief moment of silence before the DJ came on the air and said, "Next we have a song request for the beautiful Teresa from her secret admirer. He said he's sorry, Teresa, and take it from me and The Mills Brothers: he sounds sincere."

Lisbon's eyebrows went up as the song began.

"_**You always hurt the one you love,  
**__**The one you shouldn't hurt at all.  
**__**You always take the sweetest rose,  
**__**And crush it 'til the petals fall.  
**__**You always break the kindest heart  
**__**With a hasty word you can't recall, so  
**__**If I broke your heart last night,  
**__**It's because I love you most of all."**_

Lisbon loved The Mills Brothers. She loved the song "You Always Hurt The One You Love". As for how she felt about Patrick Jane, who somehow knew exactly what she'd be listening to and when?

She dug out her cell phone and tapped out a hasty text. _You jackass. – L_

She was not as surprised as she might have been once when her text was answered not with a buzzing response from her phone, but by a knock on her front door.

She walked over to the door and checked the peephole, as if she didn't know it would be him. "What do you want, Jane?" she called through the door. She'd meant it to come out cool but firm, but it sounded petulant instead.

"To talk," came the easy reply. "After all, apart from our recent adventures, I haven't seen you in six months, woman! Please let me in."

"Why should I?" she grumbled, but her hand was already turning the lock.

"You ran off before I had the chance to say goodnight. Before I had the chance to say _anything_, in point of fact," Jane chided as he stepped inside.

"I didn't 'run off', I just came home. I'm tired, Jane. I've had a hard week," she said.

"And the award for understatement of the year goes to our very own Teresa Lisbon!" he said, his voice sounding the same as it used to, full of a combination of real and false cheer. She'd always thought it had a certain melancholy charm to it. Right now, however, it grated across her nerves.

"I was worried sick about you for _months_," she said.

He sighed. "I know you were. I may not have answered your messages, Lisbon, but I did listen to them."

"What did you do for money?" she asked, the relatively unrelated question spilling out before she could stop it.

If it surprised him, he didn't show it. "What I used to do. Swindled for it. Conned people. It's not as much fun as it used to be, not after all these years and everything that's happened, but I had to eat." He sat down on her couch and grinned at her. "I couldn't just hire myself out as a temporary secretary or something, you know."

"Of course you couldn't," Lisbon snapped. "That would be a real job." He almost winced, but said nothing in his own defense. So she continued, "Well, I don't know how much you currently charge by the hour, Mr. 'Psychic to the Stars', but you have one minute."

That barb _did_ make him wince. "Lisbon, please, I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. That's why I'm here, pestering you."

"Sorry for what?" she asked, in a voice of deceptive calm. At least, deceptive to anyone who didn't know her as well as Jane did. She was such a terrible liar.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I'd spent the night with Lorelei. It didn't mean anything; it was only part of the plan." He rubbed a hand across his face, and sighed again heavily. "But I should have told you. Not telling you makes it seem more serious than it actually was."

Lisbon held up a hand. "Jane, you're a grown man. Your lovers are your concern, not mine. I didn't need to know, so you didn't tell me. I understand. Let's leave it at that."

"I can't leave it," he said simply. "Because it's bothering you."

"Who said it's bothering me?" she asked. "I just said it's not any of my business. It doesn't bother me, Jane. It doesn't _hurt_," she finished, terribly unconvincing even to her own ears.

It was obvious that he could tell she was lying, but instead of smirking and calling her on it, he seemed to grow agitated. "Please don't do that, Lisbon."

"Do what?"

He took a deep breath before replying. "Please don't lie to me."

Her own irritation flared up. "You've got a lot of nerve," she said angrily. "You're probably the **least** deserving person, out of everyone I know, to make that kind of request."

"Undoubtedly," he agreed. "But I'm not asking only for my sake."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

He leaned back and closed his eyes. "The world is full of liars, Lisbon," he began after a moment's pause. "I should know, I am one. Everywhere you go, everywhere you look, we're surrounded by them. People lying about who they are, where they've been and what they've been doing with whom."

"I'm used to being lied to," Lisbon cut in tartly.

"As am I, which is one reason your near-unfailing honesty is so refreshing, Teresa. Even when you've had to try and fool people, you've rarely been trying to fool me." He opened his eyes again, and met hers watching him. "You're not like them. You are an oasis in a vast desert of deception. Don't you be like them. Don't you be like _me_. You're so much better than that."

He watched her body language change. Her shoulders sagged slightly, her muscles relaxed, and her hands unclenched as she (didn't surrender, never _surrendered_, not his Lisbon) appeared to relent.

"Your lovers are your business, not mine, Jane. I stand by that statement," she began.

He shrugged slightly. "Fair enough."

Her eyes dropped to the floor before she admitted, "But yes, it did hurt."

He felt a little bad, fleetingly, for asking so much of her in admitting her vulnerability. But it took a back seat to the sorrow he felt at causing her pain. "Thank you for being honest with me," he said softly. "And I'm sorry I hurt you. Really."

"I believe you," she said. And she did, because he wasn't lying this time, but she allowed herself to feel sad for a moment more.

Her expression then went from dejected to slightly crafty. "You know," she said, "You never did answer my question."

He tried hard to resist the urge to smile. "What question would that be, Lisbon?"

"Right before you shot me, what you said… what did you mean?"

This time he DID smile. "What did I say?"

She glared at him. "**This** again? Damn it, Jane, you KNOW what you said!"

"Tell me anyway," he breathed. "_You_ say it."

She huffed impatiently. "Fine. You said you l-"

"Then that's what I meant," he interrupted.

"What?" she asked.

He stood and walked over to where she still stood, still facing him, arms still crossed defensively. "No tricks, Lisbon, no cons or lies. No smoke and mirrors _this_ time, my dear. Just me saying what I meant," he said with a smile. "And meaning what I said," he added unnecessarily, for emphasis.

She raised an eyebrow, but he didn't continue. The silence swelled between them for a moment, and then, "Okay," she replied. And this time the calm in her tone was real.

"That's it? 'Okay'?" he asked, seeming to have drawn in the irritation that had finally flowed out of her. "You're really going to leave me hanging like that, Teresa?"

She tilted her head to look up at him, and after another long moment she smiled. "No," she answered. She raised her hand, and mimicked the motion he'd used with her earlier, sliding it down his arm to clasp his hand in turn.

He stepped closer and put his other hand on her waist. His forehead rested against hers for a moment. "Well?" he prompted softly, his breath warm and sweet on her face.

"You're really going to make me say it?" she asked, her voice ringing of perfect exasperation. "Me _too_, all right?" she cried, before leaning forward and kissing him hard. "Love you too, Patrick," she said when she broke away momentarily.

A relieved laugh (yes, actual **relief**, even though he'd been so sure he knew how she felt) bubbled up in his throat. "That's all you had to say," he murmured against her mouth as he kissed her again.

**The End**


End file.
